


Once Upon the Ethereal Moon

by feverdreamhigh



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Balthus isn't really Vlad but fills his role, F/M, Inspired by Anastasia (1997 & Broadway), Mentioned Faerghus Four, Minor Faerghus Four, No war Fodlan, Rating May Change, Sharing a Bed, Sothis is the #1 Yurileth shipper, Talkative Sothis, Yuri is Dmitry and Byleth is Anya (duh)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:08:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25857949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feverdreamhigh/pseuds/feverdreamhigh
Summary: Those Who Slither in the Dark have focused their studies on the Eisner family, curious about Jeralt’s longevity and youth. Their efforts saw Sitri dead at childbirth, and they claimed Jeralt following ten years after. While fleeing from her father’s murderer with her grandmother, Archbishop Rhea, the young Lady Celeste went missing.Nearly ten years later, Lady Rhea announces a hefty sum of gold to be rewarded to whomever can bring the lost Lady Celeste home—gold that Yuri and Balthus could find great uses for. When they meet Byleth, a young woman seeking passage to Garreg Mach, Yuri decides that there is no one better to play pretend as the archbishop’s lost granddaughter.Heavily based off the 1997 movie and musical, Anastasia.
Relationships: Yuris Leclair | Yuri Leclerc/My Unit | Byleth
Kudos: 12





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Yuri Day!!!

**7th of the Blue Sea Moon, Imperial Year 1159 - Garreg Mach**

Not even the heart of the goddess could save the Eisner family. Lord Volkhard von Arundel’s magic was stronger than the archbishop had anticipated, greatly affecting Sitri during childbirth. No matter what the archbishop tried to do, it seemed that the Eisner child was fated to die. Sitri begged for her daughter to inherit her heart—the goddess’ heart—and her dying wish had come true. Archbishop Rhea took the heart of the goddess from her daughter Sitri, and through its power the infant survived and grew into a healthy girl, the lovely Celeste Eisner.

* * *

**20th of the Ethereal Moon, Imperial Year 1170 - Fhirdiad**

Truly, there was nothing more that Celeste wanted that night. She was curled up against her grandmother in their carriage, on their way to the performance hall where King Lambert was holding the celebrations for his son’s eighth birthday.

Celeste was all dolled up in a lovely, silk dress. It wasn’t very flashy, but the intricate silver design along the dark blue fabric was eye-catching. It lacked the puffiness and the frills that all of Celeste’s favorite dresses had, but she was absolutely in love with it, anyway.

The way her grandmother’s fingers deftly weaved her teal hair into an elaborate braid was incredibly relaxing. Celeste felt her eyes fluttering shut at the sensation. She often felt that she’d never be able to achieve that sort of delicateness if she tried to pursue the craft herself. 

Despite her striking resemblance to Sitri, Celeste seemed to be Jeralt in every way, from her preference to weapons training over magic, to her crass vocabulary, and to her inability to properly coordinate colors. A governess or two had previously commented that even her body was manly.

Perhaps the thing that tied her closest to Sitri was her bond with her grandmother. When Lady Rhea wasn’t busy, the two were inseparable. If Byleth wasn’t training or being tutored, she was talking brightly to her grandmother. They would even sing, sometimes.

In the carriage en route to the Fhirdiad Performance Hall, they sang. Lady Rhea sang a lovely melody she often boasted her mother taught her. Jeralt often regarded it as a haunting tune, preferring that Celeste never sang it in his presence.

“ _In time’s flow_

_See the glow_

_Of flames ever burning bright_

_On the swift river’s drift_

_Broken memories alight…_ ”

Celeste was about to recite the words to the next verse of their little song, but her grandmother had stopped humming. Celeste felt her grandmother pin her braid back. 

“My child,” whispered Lady Rhea. “May I give you a present?”

Celeste nodded, curious, and turned to face her grandmother. It felt strange receiving gifts on someone else’s birthday, but she was never one to reject a present.

Lady Rhea planted a soft kiss upon Celeste’s forehead as she placed, in one hand, a small decorated chest, and in the other a locket and a key dangling from a golden chain.

Celeste yelped—somewhere between a gasp and a giggle—as the carriage bounced, causing her to nearly drop her presents. Her grandmother held her steady.

The box was marvelous, Celeste thought. Over the lid was a gorgeous miniature painting of the monastery where they lived.

They were silent as Lady Rhea assisted her, inserting the key from the necklace into the slit on the side of the chest. The lid popped open and a platform rose as two figurines spun upon it. The notes of the song the two shared began to fill the carriage.

Celeste was enchanted watching the figures dance to the melody she loved so much. She stared agape at the dancers, not looking away until the song faded and the lid slowly shut.

She placed the music box beside her and leapt to wrap her arms around her grandmother’s neck. Her face was tickled slightly by her grandmother’s hair, but she didn’t mind it.

“Thank you, Grandmama,” whispered Celeste. “I love you.”

Lady Rhea’s gentle laugh echoed through the walls of the booth. “Anything for you, my sweet. I love you more than anything.”

So caught up in her grandmother’s embrace, Celeste hadn’t noticed that the carriage had come to a stop. They slowly pulled apart.

Celeste wanted to wear the necklace she had just been given, but she already wore an ornate gemmed pendant around her neck. She had not thought to bring a purse, and so she tucked the necklace into the smallclothes upon her chest.

“Lady Rhea,” Jeralt called from the now-open carriage door. “It’s time to go.”

Other knights arrived at the carriage to assist escort the archbishop, but the captain stayed behind to walk with his daughter. Celeste excitedly ran up to Jeralt.

“Look.” She was beaming as she thrusted the music box into her father’s hands. “Grandmama gave it to me.”

Jeralt knelt so their eyes met, then examined the box. “Yeah?” he asked. “What is this?”

“A music box,” said Celeste. Then she dropped her voice to a whisper, in case Lady Rhea might hear. “I won’t play it now ‘cause you don’t like the song.”

Jeralt laughed heartily. He raised his hand up as if he was going to tussle her hair, but he saw how it had been fixed and stopped himself at the last second. He instead placed his hand gently upon his daughter’s cheek.

“ _That_ song, huh?” he asked. “Well, it’s a beautiful music box, anyway.” His eyes didn’t leave Celeste’s as he placed it back in her hand.

“Let’s go now,” he said. “If we get our seats now, you’ll get to eat tons before your waltz with the prince. Are you still nervous?”

Celeste frowned as Jeralt stood. With her free hand, she held onto his as they strolled toward the entrance of the Fhirdiad Performance Hall.

The performance hall was so grand that, from where she was standing, Celeste could not even see past the side of it. The smooth, stone bricks that made up the walls were covered in wet moss, as were many buildings in Fhirdiad during this time of year. Large windows with stained glass images lined the tall walls of the performance hall. If Celeste was being honest, if it weren’t for those artworks, the building would look very sad; Faerghus was never known to be a beautiful country.

Only then did Celeste notice how the Faerghus cold had been biting at every inch of her exposed skin. She blinked, gazing away from the mossy walls and averting her attention back to her father.

“I’m not a very good dancer,” she admitted. Shivering, she cowered into her dad’s side for some warmth.

“What are you talking about?” replied Jeralt. “Dancing’s a lot like swordwork, and you’ve got some of the best swordwork I’ve seen.”

“You’re only saying that ‘cause you don’t know what a dance lesson is like. Can’t someone else dance with Dima?”

“Well, unfortunately for you, the archbishop has only one granddaughter.” Jeralt squeezed her hand lightly. “Let’s think about it this way. You love that music box, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Your grandmother will be watching. So, try put on a nice show for her. Just as a ‘thanks’ for the present. Can you do that?”

They stopped before the grand entrance of the hall. Celeste looked up at her father.

“I think I can,” she said.

Jeralt smiled. He knelt before her again and said quite softly, “Don’t worry too much about it, kid. Whatever goes on—whether you step on the prince’s feet or what—we’ll have a good laugh about it later, right?”

Celeste couldn’t suppress her giggles. Of _course_ that was how her father was going to look at it. He never did stop making light of all the royalty and nobility nonsense.

“Besides,” murmured Jeralt. “I don’t think the prince will be _that_ good a dancer, anyway. Do you remember that one time at the monastery, when he stumbled and snapped a dummy in half?”

Celeste had to cover her mouth to stop the _very_ un-ladylike snorts that were escaping her. Dimitri had been so embarrassed that day. First, he had shattered a sword when they trained together. Then he had managed to absolutely ruin a dummy while they chased each other.

“Then it’s going to be utter horseshit!” Celeste whispered. 

Jeralt was grinning like a fool, too. “It’ll be horseshit, and it’ll be Dima’s fault. So, are we ready to go in, now? The dessert table’s sure to quell those nerves of yours.”

Celeste nodded eagerly, and she and her father made their entrance through the towering doors of the performance hall.

The hall was decorated lavishly. Banners of blue and silver and gold decorated the way to the auditorium where the festivities were being held. Decorative columns lined the hallway. Every inch of the auditorium itself was dressed in blue and white, from the carpet to the curtains, to the tablecloths and seat covers. Celeste thought she would be sick of the color blue once the night was over.

She recalled hearing her father a few days ago, snickering to another knight about the ridiculous amounts of money being spent for the prince’s eighth birthday. 

Aside from the surprisingly sharply-dressed servers bustling around the hall carrying trays of all sorts of appetizers, there were not as many people around as Celeste thought there would be, which was a massive relief. She recognized a few faces—the Fraldarius and Gautier brothers, and the Galatea girl. They were friends of the prince, and were very welcoming whenever she would visit Faerghus.

The younger Gautier strode up to Celeste and her father, bowing deeply before Jeralt before turning his attention to Celeste.

“Evening, Lady Celeste! How wonderful that you have come to grace us Faerghus dwellers with your radiant presence tonight! You’re looking beautiful as ever.”

Jeralt rolled his eyes, but a ghost of an amused smile was upon his face. Celeste laughed at Sylvain’s flowery greeting.

“Good evening, Lord Sylvain,” she replied. “Stupid as ever, are we?”

Sylvain held his hand to his chest as though he had been stabbed. “Lady Celeste, you sure know how to wound a man.”

Duke Rodrigue Fraldarius approached the Eisners, bowing deeply before them. Jeralt gave Celeste’s hand a quick squeeze before getting swept away in conversation with the duke.

Sylvain offered Celeste his arm, and together they walked farther into the auditorium. They exchanged pleasantries as he led her to the table where the archbishop would be stationed. Celeste was reluctant to see him leave to be with his own family—Sylvain was always great company.

The excitement that came from wearing a pretty dress and receiving a present and the idea of seeing friends wore off as soon as Celeste sat beside her grandmother at their assigned table. Here, they would be joined by the Blaiddyds who didn’t fit at Dimitri’s table, and the Fhirdiad court mage.

No one Celeste’s age, unfortunately. She grew jealous upon noticing how Duke Fraldarius and Margrave Gautier’s families sat together. The threat of boredom didn’t face Sylvain, Felix, and Glenn as it did her. 

And, of course, as the Archbishop’s Shield, her father wouldn’t be joining her at the table, either. He’d be on guard duty. She had no one to make silly jokes with, or no one to tell her snide remarks about the noble airheads around them.

After King Lambert and Dimitri paid her their salutations, and after she had wished the prince a happy birthday, Celeste slumped into her chair. The music box in her hands appeared to be her only source of entertainment as she waited to be served her supper. She wanted to switch it on and watch the tiny dancers spin, but she recalled how she’d hidden the key in her smallclothes, and there was no way to be subtle about getting it out. Celeste fought the urge to let out a groan.

A distraction arrived soon enough when she was served her supper. Before her, a helper set a platter of a traditional Faerghus meal of roasted lamb and a variety of vegetables, with a side of what was said to be Dimitri’s favorite meal, a cheese gratin of sorts.

The nobles at their table tried to engage Celeste in conversation, but her replies were always curt, and she did nothing to hide her disinterest in their affairs. Her governess would be livid watching her. And, as if the night could not get any worse, the court mage tried to drink from Celeste’s goblet. She had even stirred it with her finger!

Needless to say, Celeste did not touch her drink the rest of the night.

Lord Rufus Blaiddyd asked Celeste to accompany him just as she had finished her dessert. She felt as though she might vomit her entire supper as she realized what was coming next. She left her music box at the table as she followed him.

“Your number’s in a while,” grumbled Rufus, leaving her at the side of the auditorium. “The queen consort will come fetch you.”

Although the audience hall must have been booming with the chatter of the Faerghus nobles and the guests of the royal family, Celeste’s thoughts were louder.

She couldn’t find her father among the crowd. He was probably doing a stupid perimeter check or something like that.

Without his words of comfort, the next best thing Celeste could do was practice. If she practiced with just _any_ noble kid around, even just for a moment, she might calm herself down just enough. She might be able to assure herself that she’d do just fine, and there was no need to worry so much.

A head of messy lavender hair briskly passed her by, and the owner looked around the prince’s height. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him around before.

She called out, “Hey—uh, could you help me?”

The boy stopped in his tracks, and turned to face her. Stepping a little closer to her, he bowed.

“Lady Celeste,” he said very politely. “How may I help you?”

So he already knew who she was. But, then again, everyone in the city did. Perhaps everyone in the country did, what with Faerghus’ strong ties with the Church.

But, that wasn’t important for now. What _was_ was that Celeste’s nerves were proving to be a little overwhelming.

What was she doing flagging down a boy she didn’t even know? She could have found Sylvain or Glenn—either of them would have dropped everything to help her.

“I’m going to dance with the prince,” explained Celeste. 

“And?”

“I’m sort of nervous,” she explained. “I’m not good at it, so I think I may mess up, but I also think I’ll do fine with a little more practice. Can you help me practice?”

The boy was suddenly very timid. “Are you… asking me to dance? With you?”

“Yes, if that’s okay.”

A pause. Celeste looked pleadingly at the boy.

“I hate to disappoint you,” he replied a little sheepishly, “but I don’t know how to dance.”

Celeste blinked. A noble kid who didn’t know how to dance? It was a ridiculous notion, considering how uptight the Faerghus nobility was.

“That’s nonsense,” she said. “You’re probably still better than me.”

The boy was quiet for a few moments, and Celeste had half a mind to apologize for bothering him and go find Sylvain instead. He stared at her curiously, but she couldn’t tell _why_. Truthfully, she didn’t find the staring to be rude, but she wondered what sort of chastisement he’d receive from his parents for acting so oddly.

Then finally, he spoke. His voice was softer than it had been seconds ago. “If you insist, Lady Celeste.”

Maybe he was simply timid? Celeste thought maybe he didn’t attend such events often, given that she had never seen him around before.

She smiled at him. “Thank you. And you can call me Celeste.”

“I would rather not,” said the boy. “I’d get in trouble if anyone heard.”

Celeste reached for his hand, which he accepted without complaint, and the two escaped the noisy auditorium and disappeared into the hallway. Celeste knew of a few people who wouldn’t take kindly to her messing around just before she was supposed to perform her waltz with the prince.

The boy started off clumsy. He was a little hesitant to place a hand on Celeste’s waist, but finally did so when she insisted that it was all part of the dance, and she’d do everything she could to ensure he didn’t get in trouble. Celeste may have cursed after stepping on the boy’s feet a few times, but she pleaded with him to never tell a soul.

The next problem that they encountered was that they were stepping to different rhythms. While the boy had picked up the art quickly and strode more gracefully than Celeste did, neither could find a common beat. This, they both realized.

The boy was first to think of a solution.

He cleared his throat and began to sing, “Living in a land that’s dark and blinded by the frigid cold…”

Celeste immediately looked up from her clumsy feet and at the boy. He didn’t look back at her, probably still a little shy, but to her relief he did not stop singing.

Celeste thought she had never heard a voice so divine. She didn’t recognize the song he sang, but the sound of his voice was enough for her to appreciate it. Not even her grandmother sang nearly as sweetly as this boy. She felt as though she would like to listen to him forever.

Since she had stopped looking at her feet, Celeste realized that the boy was quite good-looking. Perhaps his features were not as boyish as those of Sylvain and Dimitri, but his face had a nice softness to it. It was the sort of face she might find in one of those miscellaneous paintings at the monastery. He looked a little like a girl, actually, and his eyes were a very pretty color.

Celeste was still staring at him when she realized that he was not singing anymore. She also realized that they were moving perfectly in sync and that neither had stumbled for a while.

She was the least bored she’d been the whole night.

“You sing beautifully,” she said. “You have the voice of an angel.”

She may have just been imagining it in the dim lighting, but Celeste swore that the boy’s cheeks were tinged pink at her words. He bowed his head slightly.

“Thank you, Lady Celeste,” he mumbled.

“You!” growled a familiar voice.

Lord Rufus was standing at the end of the hallway, right outside the auditorium. The boy let go of Celeste as Rufus, obviously tipsy, advanced toward them. He grabbed Celeste’s arm and yanked her away.

“What in the hells are you doing, touching the archbishop’s granddaughter like that?” he hissed at the boy through gritted teeth. “You fucking _perv_. Know your damn place and keep your bastard hands to yourself.” 

Celeste wrenched her arm out of Rufus’ flimsy hold. “Lord Rufus, you misunderstand—”

“Don’t speak for the servant boy, Lady Celeste,” interrupted Rufus. “He can make up for it by fetching me a bottle of wine.”

“Right away, Lord Rufus,” said the boy. He bowed yet again before running off.

Celeste watched him go. He was a _servant boy_? Well, that explained many things, like his staring and timidness and disheveled hair and how he refused to call her without her title.

Moreover, it explained Rufus’ rudeness toward him, shooing him off while she hadn’t even gotten his name. And she hadn’t even been able to thank him, either.

Rufus placed a firmer hand on Celeste’s shoulder and led her back into the auditorium. “The prince has been waiting for you,” he grumbled.

“You shouldn’t be so rude to your helpers.”

“Good thing I don’t—”

Screams erupted from around the hall. Guests were scattering in every direction.

Celeste stupidly ran against the crowd. The pit in her stomach that had disappeared as she danced with the boy returned with a fiery vengeance. Something was wrong. Horribly, horribly _wrong_. And she wasn’t going to sit and wait to find out what.

When she arrived at her table, she grabbed her music box and clutched it over her chest. That was when she noticed.

Slumped over on the ground where people had gathered to watch the dance was a suit of stellar white armor.

Celeste could hardly recognize her father’s face. Not with the blade of a gigantic scythe impaled between his eyes.

She let out a strangled sob, hardly noticing the eruption of black and purple smoke right by her father’s rigid body.

Celeste could not take her eyes off the gruesome sight before her, not even as strong arms wrapped around her to carry her away from trouble.

“Close your eyes, my love,” cooed her grandmother’s voice. “ _Please_.”

She did not. Her vision grew blurry as tears welled up in her eyes. She kicked and screamed against her grandmother as she was being dragged away, wanting nothing but to sit by her father and somehow, _somehow_ find a way to wake him. To close the gash that ran straight through his skull.

Then her father was no longer in sight. They ran through the hall where Celeste had escaped to earlier. The smoke by her father’s body was catching up to them. Celeste had regained enough sense to get on her feet and run.

“Lady Rhea! Lady Celeste!”

At the end of the hall was the boy from earlier. As soon as they noticed him, he rushed into a room that branched into the side.

Her grandmother stopped running once they were at the doorway. She knelt by Celeste and kissed her on the forehead.

“Celeste,” she said hastily. “You must find a place to hide. Run and run until you hear nothing, and wait for me until I can find you.”

“Papa—” Celeste pleaded, only to be cut off.

“Please, Celeste. He loves you so. _I_ love you so. Run for us, _please_.”

Celeste nodded. She wished she had given her grandmother a suffocating hug before she had entered the room, as the boy shut the door and, with great effort, pushed a dresser against it once she was inside.

“Come on,” he hissed.

He sprinted across the room, where he appeared to pry open the wall.

Celeste watched him closely, trying to block out the sounds of combat from outside the door.

The wall had opened just enough for her to fit.

“Get in!”

In a clumsy hurry, Celeste dropped the music box while scurrying into the passageway, but the boy was kind enough to pick it up off the ground before following her inside. While he pulled the panel shut behind them, he shouted at her. “Run! I’m right behind you.”

Run. Run. Run. It was all she heard. If her father was with her now, he would probably give the same command.

Celeste did not know where she was going, but the winding passageway and the disaster behind her did not give her any liberty in choosing her direction.

Sure enough, the boy quickly caught up to her. He grabbed her hand and rushed farther past. Celeste had to hurry a little more to keep up with him.

She hardly had the mind to ask where they were going, or what the hell this passageway was. She ran aimlessly as she thought only of the wound through her father’s head and her grandmother that she had left behind.

Celeste winced as the boy cursed. They had come to a stop. They were out of the Hall.

A blast of cool Faerghus air assaulted her skin. People were running past them, screaming. It seemed that the commotion within the Performance Hall had radiated throughout Fhirdiad.

Commoners ran to and fro, many in their sleeping clothes. She caught sight of soldiers closing in on the venue that she was leaving behind.

The boy tugged lightly on her arm as he began to move through the crowd. Celeste cast one last glance behind her.

A sliver of smoke was still following her. Surely, it was following _her_. It had gotten past her grandmother—she loathed to think of what might have happened to her—and it was now coming for her. It seemed to hiss.

“Celeste…”

She had no idea what to do, but she knew that she had to get away. She wrenched her hand from the boy’s grip and ran as quickly as she could through the crowd.

* * *

The 20th of the Ethereal Moon thus became known throughout Garreg Mach as the death anniversary of the beloved Captain Jeralt Eisner, and the day of Lady Celeste’s disappearance. 

For Jeralt, an elegant yet depressingly morose memorial was held at the monastery. Masses and services were held for months thereafter, begging the goddess Sothis for the protection of the archbishop’s lost granddaughter.

Meanwhile, in Fhirdiad, a hospital for the poor took in a most unusual patient—a teal-haired girl with no name, no memories to speak of, clad only in her smallclothes.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Security in the Faerghus capital is still tight many years after the Eisner tragedy. Two conmen have capitalized on this and made names for themselves in Faerghus. Yuri and Balthus, known for providing oppressed and abused women and children with illegal travel documents, are acutely aware that their time as free men in Fhirdiad is running out, but Yuri refuses to leave until they find an actress to present to the archbishop.

**Red Wolf Moon, Imperial Year 1180 - Fhirdiad**

Yuri thought that being missing for almost ten years was more than enough to grab you the label of “dead”—or “presumed dead”, at the very least. But the archbishop of the Church of Seiros clearly had other ideas. News was going around about how she was once again opening the search for her lost granddaughter.

It was stupid, really. You’d have to be a damn fool to believe that Lady Celeste was still out there.

Whether Lady Celeste was truly alive mattered not to Yuri. What  _ did _ matter was that, this time, the archbishop was offering a pretty sum of gold to whomever could return her granddaughter to her.

As fate would have it, it didn’t take long for Yuri to consider forfeiting his chance at a hundred bullions.

Yuri cursed loudly at the domed ceiling of the auditorium, and his voice echoed through the abandoned Fhirdiad Performance Hall. He looked around as he listened to his voice bouncing off the walls. Goddess, everywhere he looked was blue. The smelly, crunchy carpet beneath his feet—blue. Banners along the walls—blue. The seat he was on? Blue.

He once heard that blue was a  calming  color, but as of now it just felt like it was shitting on his face.

Balthus escorted their final actress out the door. 

Finding a woman who shared Lady Celeste’s hair and eye color was a challenge; when he thought about it, Yuri was sure he’d never seen anyone with those exact features before. And, well, finding a woman with those attributes who was also a convincing enough performer? The goddess would walk Fódlan again before he finally met just the right actress.

Balthus returned. He didn’t delay in making sure Yuri knew just how ridiculously this whole venture was playing out.

“Alright, Boss. Which one’s got your eye? The blonde? The ginger? The fuckin’ granny? Might as well put  _ you _ in a dress and send ya up there myself.”

“Shut it, you damn fool,” snapped Yuri. “I’m not happy about this either.”

“We got other options,” said Balthus. “Other well-paying gigs that don’t require some royal blue-haired chick and that we could get done in a jiffy.”

“Fuck that,” spat Yuri. “ _ Other well-paying gigs _ —find us one that’ll give us the same gold the archbishop would. It’s a hundred bullions.  _ A hundred bullions _ , alright? That’s enough—”

Balthus interrupted, “Yeah, yeah. Enough to get your mum a small house in Derdriu and enough for me to pay all my damn debts. Not like you say it all the time.”

Yuri sighed deeply, tiredly burying his head in his hands. Balthus was right—there were other jobs out there they could take on. They were wasting their time.

And they didn’t have a lot of it. They were making a name for themselves among the Fhirdiad commoners. And they were both aware that this fame meant that the city guard would be pounce on them soon. Their time in Fhirdiad was coming to an end, and delaying business and spending resources to host these auditions wasn’t doing them any good. 

Other than that, Lady Celeste was dead. Yuri knew the Eisner tragedy like the back of his hand, and he had even seen the dress Lady Celeste last wore go up for sale in the markets.

And, of course, not a single woman in Fódlan looked even a little bit like her. So they’d probably get turned away by the archbishop in an instant.

Getting turned away wouldn’t be that big a problem, which was why Yuri was willing to risk it all. The archbishop hadn’t gone to punishing impostors. So Yuri knew that he and Balthus would pick themselves back up regardless of how it went down. Because, whatever happened, they’d be out of Faerghus. They’d go from there. He’d probably pick out a new name.

But if they succeeded, then that opened up all sorts of doors for them.

They had everything to win.

Yuri propped his legs up on the table before them. “One week,” he said. “If we don’t find someone in a week, then fuck it all. We’ll get out of here for good.”

“Deal.” Balthus clapped Yuri hard on the shoulder, almost throwing him off balance. “Sorry for snappin’,” he added. “Just not looking for another bounty on my head.”

Balthus stood. He stretched his arms over his head as he moved his hips in a way that Yuri could only describe as gyrating. Finding the sight unappealing, he looked away.

“Now let’s grab dinner, yeah?” said Balthus. “Your treat.”

Yuri rolled his eyes. “When am I  _ not _ paying for your supper, Balthus?”

He stood and the two grabbed their coats off the table. As they made their way to the entrance of the performance hall, the large door creaked open before them.

A woman stumbled in and with her, a gust of the harsh Faerghus breeze. Was she another actress? Goddess, Yuri had had  _ enough _ today.

“Are you the Mockingbird?” she asked.

Stifling a groan of annoyance, he replied, “That all depends on who’s looking for him.”

“Oh,” the woman replied sheepishly. “I’m Byleth. Could help me get out of Fhirdiad.”

Yuri’s jaw almost dropped as his eyes settled upon the stranger’s face. That color hair, the lovely blue doe eyes… it  _ couldn’t  _ be.

_ Could it? _

A smile spread across Yuri’s face. He nudged Balthus on the arm, but he was already staring slack-jawed at… Byleth, was it?

Yuri stepped closer to Byleth, studying her features closely. Circling her, examining the shade of her hair. Eyes drifting a little lower, but quickly back up to be polite.

Byleth stepped away, her arms pulling her coat tightly over her chest, which, Yuri thought, definitely garnered many stares from many men. But it wasn’t the subject of interest this time. 

“I’m sorry,” she snapped. “What’s going on here? You’re both staring.”

Yuri cleared his throat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be so rude. Now, Byleth, you were saying? Is it just ‘Byleth’, then? Your last name is…”

Byleth hesitated for a moment, then cleared her throat. “I don’t have a last name,” she admitted.

When Balthus and Yuri raised quizzical eyebrows, she added, “Nor do I have any memories from when I was a child. All I know is I woke here in Fhirdiad ten years ago.” 

Balthus’ eyes widened, and he coughed into his hand. Yuri knew what he was thinking; the exact same thoughts were running through his own head.

Lady Celeste was killed almost ten years ago to the day. Uncanny. Or perhaps this lady— _ Byleth _ —was just another actress. Yuri had to hand it to her—no one had taken on the amnesiac act before, but he had to admit that it made for a convincing explanation for her disappearance all these years.

Silence filled the hall. Byleth was the one to break it. “I know that it sounds crazy,” she said.

“I believe it,” Yuri replied, playing along. “Alright. We’ll hear it from the beginning, then.”

Byleth tilted her head, as if expecting this to be some sort of trick. Or maybe she was shocked that this plan of hers was working. Who knew?

She shifted uncomfortably. “If you really want the specifics,” she began, “I woke up in a hospital with a bandage around my head. They asked me my name, and I couldn’t answer, so they called me ‘Byleth’.”

She paused. Yuri and Balthus gave an encouraging nod.

“They found me on the road with my head bleeding, freezing to my death in my smallclothes. The trauma must’ve wiped my memory clean, they said.

“Soon, I was well enough and I was left on the streets. A nice mercenary crew took me in eventually, but I left them because I need to go to Garreg Mach.”

Yuri had to bite hard on his tongue to keep from laughing.  _ Garreg Mach _ ? Please. Was this the goddess making sure everything was falling neatly into the palm of his hand? Just this once?

“Garreg Mach, is it?”

“Yes. Can you help me?”

“Why Garreg Mach?”

She took off the locket around her neck and shoved it into Yuri’s palm. “This is the only clue I have of my past,” she explained. “It was all I had at the hospital, hidden under my smallclothes. I want to believe it was given to me by my family. And do you see it? That painting—that’s Garreg Mach.”

Yuri held the locket up to the ceiling, not ignoring the key that was also attached to the chain, studying the ancient building that had been painted over its surface. Balthus walked up behind him and did his share of observing, too.

“That’s Garreg Mach, alright,” assured Balthus.

Both Yuri and Balthus were former students at the Officers Academy, although they were from different years. They both recognized the monastery immediately.

Yuri returned the locket. “What are you looking for in Garreg Mach, exactly? A doting grandmother?”

“Anything, anyone!” replied Byleth, not paying his comment any mind. She tucked the necklace into her coat. “I only need to get there. I was told that the Mockingbird was the one that people with my salary talk to about that.”

Yuri walked past her through the large doors of the auditorium. He hummed, “Would you like to join us for dinner? There’s a lot to discuss, and my friend and I haven’t eaten since the morning.”

“Yes! Yes.” Byleth sounded relieved, trotting behind Balthus and him to catch up. 

The three ducked into a dim and crowded tavern—one of Yuri and Balthus’ usual haunts—to discuss their arrangement.

They sat in silence for a while. Byleth didn’t seem very hungry, but she allowed Yuri and Balthus ample time to eat before pestering them further.

This was good for Yuri, who used this time to think long and hard about how he was going to propose their joint travel to Garreg Mach without bringing up the archbishop’s reward.

Finally, Byleth spoke.

“What are your names?” she asked.

For only a moment, Yuri scared himself into thinking that she’d somehow seen through his facade, that she knew Yuri Leclerc was just a fabrication, but quickly enough it occurred to him that he and Balthus hadn’t properly introduced themselves.

“I’m Yuri,” he replied. “My friend is Balthus.”

“Pleasure, Byleth,” Balthus said with a mouth full of food.

Yuri laid his utensils upon his now-empty plate and pushed it toward the center of the table. Byleth watched him with anticipation.

“I’ll be honest with you, darling,” he began. His hands were pressed together as if in prayer below his chin. He shot a quick sideways glance at Balthus. “You know who we are. That means you know that how we operate isn’t exactly legal.”

Byleth nodded eagerly. “I know, but that’s okay.”

“The reason I say that is because Balthus and I have been meaning to flee Faerghus,” he admitted. “The more people that know about us, the more business flourishes, for sure. But it also means that we get attention from the wrong people. I think our time here is up.”

Byleth blinked, evidently confused.

“We could travel together, is what I wanted to suggest,” he continued. He noticed Balthus watching him carefully from his seat. “We were going south—Empire territory, ideally, as Balthus isn’t so hot in the Alliance. Garreg Mach should be a safe stop for both you and us.”

Byleth slowly began to nod. A sly grin spread across Yuri’s face.

“So you… you’ll help me?” asked Byleth. “And the three of us—we’ll travel together?”

“Exactly that. We won’t ask for your money in acquiring documents and transportation; we’ll all be chipping in when necessary, so your gold will be most useful then.”

“Yes. Whatever gets me to Garreg Mach.”

Yuri held out his hand for a shake. Byleth took it firmly in her own and looked him straight in the eye as she shook it.

“Byleth,” called Balthus. Yuri immediately turned at the sound of his voice, praying to the goddess that he wouldn’t say anything stupid.

Byleth was with them. She didn’t even talk about taking a cut of the reward. Yuri had played her like a fiddle.

Yuri glared at him as if to say,  _ Don’t ruin this. _

“I’ve been thinkin’ about what ya said,” said Balthus. “About  _ why _ Garreg Mach. If you could tell us all ya know, then maybe we’d know a guy. Or a gal. Someone who can help, yeah? We know lots of people.” 

But Byleth didn’t look like she was listening.

Yuri flinched as a cat leapt up onto his side of the table, and Balthus was quick to grab it and place it beside Byleth. Yuri wished Balthus had shooed it away—Goddess knows they didn’t have gold to spare for herbs if he got a reaction. Byleth shied away from the cat, but she also seemed to be… glaring at it?

The cat seemed to be gazing at Yuri and Balthus. Yuri and Balthus stared back.

“She’s already told you everything!” A little girl’s voice escaped the cat’s mouth. “What more do—”

Yuri leapt off the stool he was sitting on and took many steps away from the table. Balthus nearly fell backward off his chair.

Byleth stared wide-eyed at the cat. “I told you not to do that!” she reprimanded. “What the  _ fuck _ ?”

“The cat is talking,” exclaimed a panicky Balthus. “The fucking cat is  _ talking _ !”

Yuri glanced around to see if they were making a scene, but found everyone else at the tavern was too drunk to care.

The cat sneered at Balthus. “Oh, don’t soil your smallclothes, you oaf!”

“Byleth!” demanded Yuri. “Explain?”

“She won’t hurt you,” said Byleth. “Sit.”

“I’m allergic.”

“Well—Balthus, get off the floor, please? And you—” she looked pointedly at the cat— “kindly move the cat away from here and don’t ever do this again.”

Did the cat… did she actually just groan before retreating?

Byleth had a talking cat, too? What the fuck was going on with this woman?

“Don’t ask me to explain it,” she said. “She’s like a ghost in my head. Or I thought she was. I thought I was going crazy, but you guys heard her, too, so clearly I’m not.” She grinned sheepishly at them. “That doesn’t change things, I hope?”

Balthus begged her to reveal any more strange secrets before anything like that stupid cat caught them off guard again.

The not-a-cat-but-a-ghost-thing-from-Byleth’s-mind was named Sothis, which Yuri let Byleth know he found very funny, but she insisted that she didn’t name her herself. Sothis had only begun appearing to Byleth at the beginning of the year. 

Byleth proceeded to tell Yuri and Balthus all about her life, starting from the moment she woke in the hospital. She lived alone on the streets in her hospital robes for a year. She took work as a househelp for a middle-class family, earning barely a thing, before getting kicked back onto the street and taking on many more short-lived jobs. She met her mercenary crew five years later when they saved her from a group of thugs in an alleyway, and, impressed with how she fended for herself, they offered her a spot in their crew.

It was a very detailed account, Yuri thought. Hell, he was almost convinced.

The way she answered any and all questions that he and Balthus put forth threw him off a little. She sounded as though she wanted them to praise such a well-constructed narrative, such a well-composed story for what Lady Celeste had been up to for ten years.

If she truly wasn’t an actress, Yuri thought, her openness with two men she had only just met smacked of naïveté.

Yuri decided he’d call her bluff. Just to have a little fun.

He brought his voice down to a murmur. “Byleth, forgive me if I’m prying, but have you ever considered that you might be the lost Lady Celeste?”

Balthus winced beside him.

Byleth coughed, nearly choking on the ale she had been drinking. Yuri very politely handed her a napkin, and Balthus grabbed a tankard of water from a passing server and offered it to her.

Yuri watched Byleth like a hawk as her coughing fit died down, but nothing about her betrayed that she was merely an actress. The way she was reacting was purely out of shock rather than some caught-in-the-act jitters.

“The very same Lady Celeste that the Church searches for every two years?” she scoffed.

When Yuri nodded, she looked to Balthus instead, but he was eyeing her with the same curiosity that Yuri was.

“You, too?” she asked, incredulous. “This is ridiculous.”

“But everything about you is already ridiculous,” replied Yuri, nonchalant. “The amnesiac mercenary with a talking cat. Ridiculous and ridiculous. You even look just like Lady Celeste. What’s just a little bit more ridiculousness piled onto all that?”

“You got a clue about Garreg Mach,” offered Balthus. “Lost your memory ten years ago—ya know what else happened ten years ago? Lady Rhea’s son-in-law got murdered, and Celeste went missing.”

Yuri smiled kindly at her. “If you’re going to Garreg Mach,” he added. “Reaching out to the archbishop wouldn’t hurt, no?” 

Byleth’s hands slid down her face. “Fuck. You two are serious.”

Yuri’s eyebrows furrowed. He had never been more confused. Was she not playing any games at all?

Hell, what were the odds of an actual amnesiac mercenary’s life story lining up perfectly with Lady Celeste’s?

“What’s the problem?” asked Balthus. “Means we’ll help ya as much as we can. A sob story like yours is just the type that plucks on the boss’s heartstrings.”

That was true, Yuri supposed, to a certain extent. His and Balthus’ business catered to those who needed it most. They overcharged clients who could afford to be overcharged—conniving noblemen who didn’t want their travels recorded and the sort—so they didn’t have to charge those who couldn’t pay—like children and women fleeing from abusive caretakers or partners.

Maybe if Byleth were a proper client, he would’ve charged her normally. But acquiring the documents and transportation didn’t require any gold, anyway, and her gold would be better spent elsewhere.

“Yes,” he agreed. “And if you’re  _ not _ the lost Lady Celeste, then no harm, no foul.”

“If it ain’t true, it’ll all just be an honest mistake, pal,” said Balthus. “At least we get ya to Garreg Mach, and Yuri and I get our asses out of Faerghus. We got nothing to lose.”

Byleth’s gaze shifted from Yuri to Balthus several times over. She was probably wondering what sort of trick they were playing.

Truthfully, for both parties, this arrangement was just too good to be true.

The silence was gnawing at Yuri, and he felt a pit growing in his stomach. She had to say yes. The goddess knew that Yuri would accept if he were in her shoes. 

Balthus grabbed Yuri’s unfinished tankard of ale and downed it. An annoying, rude too, nervousness tic of his that Yuri had grown used to over time.

When the tension was thickest in the air, Byleth’s voice cut through it like a knife.

“When do we leave?” she finally asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please watch when dmitry and anya first meet in the movie and i dare you to tell me that dmitry doesn't exude yuri energy


End file.
